


Fixing To Die

by MomotoneScreaming



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Asexual Hawke, F/M, Fenris character analysis, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of gore and blood, Post-Arishok battle, i just have a lot of feelings about these characters okay, love fenris my boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 00:09:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14758907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MomotoneScreaming/pseuds/MomotoneScreaming
Summary: Hawke had stopped the Qunari invasion.Isabela was safe and free.The Arishok was dead.But it didn't feel like Hawke had won. She had taken a sword through the stomach, and Fenris was left cradling her dying body. He couldn't help but think. Of what she meant to him. Of that night between them. Of the thought of losing her.





	Fixing To Die

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Keaton Henson's Corpse Roads

He cradled her life in his arms. 

 

Fenris had done it before - held someone’s life in the palm of his hand. But not like this. He was normally the one in control. Their heart beating underneath his hand, every thud vibrating out of their chest, through his gauntlet and into his arm. 

 

He could control whether they lived or died. With the squeeze of a hand they’d be gone. With a passing whim they’d live. But no matter what he wanted, there was nothing he could do to control whether Hawke lived or died. He wasn’t a healer. 

 

All he could do was hold her in his arms. Support her. Cradle her. And watch as the Arishok’s sword was removed from her stomach. Watch as her blood flowed and stained everything it touched. His gauntlets. Her clothes. The Floor. Anders’ hands as he tried to heal as much as he could. He needed to stop the blood flow. So she would be stable enough to move. 

 

They were on the floor of the Viscount's Keep, sitting in a puddle of blood. Fenris wasn’t sure what was hers and what was the Arishok’s anymore. His corpse still lay only a few feet away where Hawke had stabbed him in the throat. They left him where he fell. The Qunari left. Meredith promptly entered and named Hawke champion, right before she started to pass out. 

 

Fenris rushed to her side, catching her before she could hit the ground. With a sword straight through her stomach, the fall could do some serious damage. So he caught her, and held her on the cool stone of the Keep. 

 

Everyone followed, rushing to the side of their new champion. Anders ordering someone to remove the sword so he could heal her.

 

Fenris didn’t like the mage. Had a feeling he never would. But the mage was good at what he did. He could admit that at least. 

 

His healing wasn’t beautiful, as so many often thought. It was dirty. Messy. Sleeves pushed up to his elbows, sweat beading on his forehead, staff abandoned, blood soaking his hands and staining his skin. 

 

Anders sighed, hands dropping to his sides. Blood dropped onto the already stained floor. 

 

Fenris didn’t know who had more blood on his hands. Himself, or the healers. 

 

He could hear Meredith barking orders in the background, with her army of Templars following her every order. But Fenris wasn’t listening. It was just white noise. He was in a bubble. A void. Where he could only hear the steady dripping of blood, and the unsteady rhythm of Hawke’s breathing. It hitched and heaved, her chest rising and falling as her lungs struggled to gather air. It was painful to listen to. 

 

“She should be safe to move,” Anders started, wiping his hands on his robes. “For now, at least.” 

 

The mage stood up, gathering his staff from where it was discarded on the floor. He looked tired. There was no way he could carry Hawke. He could barely carry himself. Plus - there was more healing to be done. 

 

“So how do we do this?” he asked, looking down at Hawke, who was struggling with consciousness in Fenris’ arms. Her eyelids were fluttering heavily, as she struggled to stay awake. 

 

“I’ll carry her.” Fenris found himself saying. It was an accident, but he didn’t regret it. He eased Hawke’s prone body off of his lap, laying her gently on the floor. She was lying in her own blood, and Fenris could see it sticking in her hair, but he didn’t see any other choice. He moved from where he was sitting, so he could scoop her up into his arms. One arm hung limp over her stomach, on top of the wound the Arishok had left her. The other hung loosely at her side, blood trailing down her arm. It dripped off her fingertips. 

 

Everyone stared at her. At him. He nodded, and they all prepared to leave. Meredith could handle the nobles, and the guard could wait for Aveline. They started to leave, for which Fenris was insanely glad. He had seen enough of this room to last a lifetime. 

 

Metal scraped against the floor, everyone immediately turning to see the source of the noise. It was Isabela, picking the Arishok’s blades off the ground. Aveline just looked at her. The unspoken  _ ‘Is this really the time?’  _ hung in the air.

 

“It’s a gift. For...” Isabela started. She cleared her throat. “For when Hawke gets better.”

 

“Somehow I think she’d appreciate that,” Varric replied, a smirk climbing at the corner of his mouth.

 

An innocent enough phrase. But Fenris knew better. He knew where to look. She paused. And that single pause said everything. Isabela almost said ‘if’. It danced on the edge of her tongue, clinging to her tastebuds. 

 

_ If  _ Hawke wakes up.

 

Not when.

 

_ If.  _

 

“We should move,” Fenris said. He could feel Hawke’s blood staining his stomach. They needed to hurry. Aveline nodded, and carved the way out of the Keep. 

 

They hurried to the estate, the group of them. They may not all get along, but they were all friends with Hawke. So with Hawke they stayed, and Hawke they would help. 

 

Aveline was in the lead, with Merrill following anxiously behind. Then came Sebastian, and Isabela who was carrying both of the Arishok’s blades. Then Varric. Then Anders. And finally - Fenris and Hawke.

 

Moving was hard. They needed to move fast enough so they had plenty of time to continue healing, but slow enough that her wounds wouldn’t get worse on the way. It was  hard line to walk. Finding that balance.

 

They didn’t find it. 

 

Hawke’s wounds split halfway to the Hawke estate, blood bursting from her stomach. 

 

Her blood was an ocean and he was drowning in it.

 

“She’s gotten worse,” Fenris said, trying to keep his voice steady. He had to remain calm. Had to pretend he was calm. That the thought of Hawke’s blood staining his clothes was sending him down into a spiral. They didn’t need his panic now. 

 

Anders looked over with a start, all colour draining from his face. Merrill’s hand flew to cover her face, and everyone else looked sullen. 

 

More blood seeped out of her wounds. It dripped onto his feet. 

 

“Shit,” Varric said. Voicing what everyone was thinking so they didn’t have to. Everyone was silent, save for Hawke’s ragged breathing echoing through the endless cool stone buildings of Hightown. “So what do we do now Blondie? You’re the healer.”

 

Anders exhaled. It was going to be a long night. 

 

“I need someone to go to my clinic, get all my supplies, and bring them to the estate.” He said, clearly trying to calm himself and remain logical. All the pressure was on him. Hawke’s life was in his hands. It was life a candle, flickering in the wind and threatening to go out. He was the only one who could save it. But he wasn’t completely alone. He had help. 

 

“I’ll go,” Sebastian volunteered, looking almost eager for something to do. Some way to help.

 

“Oh, I’ll go with you,” Merrill added. “I can show you the passage in Hawke’s basement, it’ll be quicker.”

 

Sebastian nodded with acknowledgement and they were off running. Their footsteps echoed through the street, sound remaining long after they were gone. 

 

“Now we just need to get Hawke inside.” Anders said. “The rest can wait until we’re there.”

 

Aveline nodded, and with that they were off through Hightown. Just like Hawke, the city was in a terrible state. Fire, rubble, ruin, blood, and corpses littered the streets, the remains of the battle still fresh. There would be time to tend to that later. The city had time. Hawke did not. 

 

She was still limp in his arms, and Fenris could feel every breath, every cough, every drop of blood seeping out of her. She was melting in his arms. 

 

The last time he had held her had been different. There was no blood, no pain, no open wounds. No Qunari invasion or immediate threat. It had just been them. It was that night. The night he walked out. When he left. Fenris sighed. He couldn’t go thinking about it now.  He couldn’t. It was too much. Too many emotions intertwining in ways he didn’t want. He had to focus on the now. After what seemed like eons, they arrived at the estate. Aveline hesitated in front of the door, hand hovering in mid air.

 

She knocked.

 

Someone shouted ‘door’s open’ from inside, giving the cue to head inside in a rush. Everyone flooded through the door, Anders calling out instructions. Clear the table. Grab some old blankets. Heat water. Make some elfroot potions. 

 

Fenris made his way through the door carefully, angling himself as to not hit Hawke with the doorframe. She was still out cold. 

 

He followed the stream of people to the dining room. With the Arishok’s blades now abandoned leaning on the wall, Isabela was busy laying an old blanket over the large wooden table. With all the blood Hawke was covered with, it was probably a good idea. 

 

“Fenris, lay her down,” Anders said, almost an order. He normally would have bristled, but given the circumstances he would let it slide. They had bigger problems. 

 

Leaning over the table, he placed her in the middle and slowly let his hands out from underneath her. She shifted, and Fenris froze. Her eyelids fluttered until she was staring up at him with large hazel eyes. 

 

“Fenris?” She said, confusion coating her voice. It was thick, like it was after first waking up in the morning. His heart hitched into his throat. “What?”

 

“You’re home,” he said, hoping to remove her confusion as to ease her pain just a little. “Anders is here to heal you.”

 

“But the Arishok-”

 

“Is dead because of you,” Fenris said, the hint of a smile teasing at the corner of his lips. “Relax.”

 

She sighed and slumped down on the table, body going limp once more. Fenris felt his gut turn until it was tied in knots, he hated being this helpless. Clenching his fist, he looked over to see what the others were doing. Isabela was moving things out of the way - he assumed they used to be on the table. 

 

Merrill and Sebastian were removing all of Anders’ healing supplies from a large wooden crate and placing them on a bench in the kitchen - the door between the two rooms was propped open. They were organising all the potion ingredients into piles - prepping to make a variety of potions Anders would need. 

 

Aveline and Varric were talking with Bodahn - Fenris could hear their voices floating through the open doors in the mansion.  

 

“Will the Mistress be alright?” Bodahn said anxiously. “She’s in quite a state.”

 

“Anders is a fine healer,” Aveline started, voice carrying over the faint noise of metal on metal - her armour making sound as she shifted her stance. “It was rough but with his skill she should be fine. She has to be.”

 

“If anyone can survive a sword through the stomach it’s Hawke,” Varric said, his voice calm and soothing, even this time of extreme stress. “She’s a tough woman, she’ll pull through. She always does.”

 

Fenris looked down at Hawke, who was now unconscious on the table, with everyone occupied with preparing everything, it was just the two of them at the table. Her brown hair had fallen into her face, strands of it sticky with blood. He pushed it out of her eyes, fingers barely grazing her skin. A cold wave washed over his skin, along the lyrium lines, causing goosebumps to rise. 

 

It felt intimate. He didn’t deserve it. He sighed. Stepping away from Hawke’s face. 

 

“Fenris!” He heard someone call - it was Anders, his hair swept off his face, his coat abandoned, and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. “Take this towel and push it on her wound while we get ready.”

 

The mage threw an old towel in his direction, Fenris catching it and nodding. He turned back to Hawke, whose breath was now even more ragged than before. He placed the carefully folded towel onto her stomach, and pushed down with both hands. Her wound had split on the way over, and now more blood was seeping from her stomach. Fenris’ chest tightened. 

 

He didn’t want this to happen. Everyone had that feeling in the back of their minds that the Qunari weren’t there in Kirkwall for a boat back to Par Vollen. And of course Hawke was the one to do something about it. Of course Hawke was going to fight for Kirkwall. No one else would. And he would stand by her until the very end. 

 

Fenris just hoped the end wouldn’t be so soon. Maker he wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything else. 

 

When he was a slave he wasn’t allowed to want things for himself. It was always for Danarius. It was a tough battle to fight of the urge to push people away. He still hadn’t won. He had fucked up so bad, but by the Maker did he want Hawke to be okay. 

 

She let out a whimper. He lifted up the towel to see what the damage was. There was a lot of blood. Not all of it hers. But enough. Enough to terrify everyone that was currently situated in her house. He pressed back down. 

 

Back in the kitchen Fenris could see Anders chugging down a lyrium potion - he’d need all the mana he could possibly get. Merrill and Sebastian were mixing potions - Isabela now helping them as best she could, sorting through poultices, ointments and premade potions. Varric and Aveline were out of the way, which was probably for the best as there were people everywhere. He had heard Anders ask one of them to go get spare towels and bandages, some water and a bucket. Fenris assumed they hurried off. Just wanting something to do. Some way to feel useful. 

 

Slowly more people started flooding their way into the dining room. Isabela and Merrill with endless bottles of healing supplies chatting anxiously to each other- placed on a side table off against a wall. Sebastian followed with a parcel of various instruments and tools - there would be a point where healing magic would only go so far - he looked grim, his eyebrows furrowed.

 

“May the Maker have mercy,” Sebastian said, looking down at Hawke’s prone body.

 

“If you haven’t started praying yet, Choir Boy, now might be the time to start,” Varric said as he entered with a pile of towels and bandages. His voice held none of his usual humour and charm. It was a depressing thought. 

 

“I have been since the fight. But I figured it would be best appreciated in silence,” Sebastian replied, his words almost a joke if it weren’t for the circumstances. 

 

Aveline followed with two buckets - one full of water, the other empty - with Anders close behind. 

 

“Okay we should strip her down from the waist up,” Anders said. “Clean off the blood - see how bad the damage really is.”

 

“I’ve got it,” Isabela said, walking over to the table. “Fenris, you help me.”

 

He nodded. She would need another pair of hands to help get Hawke’s armour off without seriously injuring her. He wanted to help - but he didn’t want to see how bad it really was. If he didn’t see, he could almost trick himself into thinking it was nothing. 

 

Fenris started by removing his own gloves - they were sharp and he didn’t want to risk stabbing her. He then removed her gloves, pulling them off her hands as to not to hurt her. 

 

“Dump it in the bucket,” Anders said, starting to open various glass bottles. “We can sort it out later.”

 

Merrill placed the bucket in between Fenris and Isabela, the two of them stripping off her layers - Fenris holding Hawke off the table while Isabela got her outer armour off, before dumping it in the bucket. 

 

They moved methodically - removing piece at a time, carefully removing it from Hawke’s prone form. Fenris tried not to think too much about what he was doing. It hurt too much. She should be the one to remove her armour, making a dumb joke, or pulling a face as a buckle got caught in her hair. 

 

It wasn’t long before She was just in her undershirt - once a dirty cream colour, now stained red with an ocean of blood. 

 

“I’ll lift up her waistband,” Isabela started, dropping the last bit of armour into the bucket. “You try and untuck her shirt.”

 

He nodded, waiting for Isabela to pry her fingers underneath the waistband of Hawke’s pants so he could pull her shirt out. They didn’t want to do anything that would risk agitating her wound, anymore than was necessary. 

 

The two worked slowly, ignoring the sounds of the other prepping everything in the background. They needed to focus. The had pried the front of her shirt out of her pants, but they would need help to do the back. Hawke needed to be lifted - carefully - with the two working to pull her shirt out. 

 

“Can someone help us lift her?” Isabela shouted over her shoulder. He saw Aveline look up from what she was doing. She looked up at Varric, who seemed to be working with her in setting out the various supplies they had gathered.

 

“I’ve got it,” Varric said, knowing what Aveline was asking. “You go help.”

 

Aveline nodded and hurried into the dining room. She made her way to Hawke’s side, and making sure she was supporting as much of Hawke as possible, she started to lift her. 

 

Hawke moaned, and Fenris’ heart sunk. He couldn’t stand seeing her in pain, but  _ hearing  _ it was so much worse. 

 

He tried to block it out, and untuck her shirt as quickly as he could.

 

“Done,” He said, Aveline quickly lowering Hawke back onto the table. “Do we have scissors?”

 

“Over here,” Sebastian said, hurrying over to hand Fenris the scissors before going back to what he was doing. They seemed to be laying out supplies, sorting out what they needed immediately, before moving them onto the side table in the dining room. They’d be closer to Anders and Hawke this way. 

 

Isabela peeled Hawke’s stained shirt off her chest, pulling a face at how sticky everything was. There was so much blood. Far too much. Fenris leaned over and cut through her shirt. Now that it was untucked, they could remove it as quickly and painlessly as possible. 

 

The hard part would be the actual wound. Trying to peel the material out of the wound it was currently pressed into, and cut through her shirt without cutting her. 

 

He worked slowly and carefully. Feeling everyone’s eyes on him as they all waited. Everything was ready, all they needed now was access to Hawke. 

 

He cut the shirt open, and had to repress the bile that was threatening to rise. He hadn’t seen the wound before. It was bad. Really bad. He didn’t know if even Anders could heal her way out of this one. He couldn’t look, cutting down her sleeve so they could remove her shirt in sections. He handed the scissors over and stepped back from the table. There was nothing he could do now. 

 

He was useless. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time. 

 

Fenris hated it. 

 

He stood back and watched. Anders took charge, ordering Merrill and Sebastian about. As they both had some knowledge on potions, poultices, and non magical healing - they were his best choice as assistants. 

 

He wanted to help so badly. To do anything to aid in the healing of Hawke. To combat the aching uselessness that had settled in his stomach. 

 

He felt his hands clench as he saw Merrill tentatively pouring an elfroot potion down Hawke’s throat. As he saw Sebastian remove the last fragments of Hawke’s torn shirt. As he saw Anders press his hands to her stomach. As he saw the familiar glow of healing magic. 

 

“Fenris,” He turned to see Isabela staring at him, finger shaped marks of blood drying on her face. She looked exhausted. It had been a tiring day. With the Tome of Koslun, the invasion, the Arishok battle, Hawke fighting for her freedom, there must have been a lot riding on Isabela’s shoulders. “She won’t heal any faster with you glaring at her.”

 

He gave her a look, unclenching his hands and softening his scowl. He didn’t respond but proceeded to follow her out of the dining room. 

 

Everyone was in the main room, leaning on walls, sitting on wooden chairs, perching on the edge of the old couch Hawke had dragged inside. Nobody was comfortable. They were all too on edge. 

 

They were battle weary already, and with Hawke’s condition everyone felt like shit. That would have been Fenris’ guess anyhow. Now that they weren’t fighting their way through the Qunari infested city, and he wasn’t focused on carrying Hawke’s limp body through the ruins of hightown, Fenris realised just how tired he was. His muscles were strained, his bones were heavy, and he was covered in drying blood.

 

But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t. He couldn’t leave Hawke. He had to know she was safe. That she would live. She had to. It was Hawke. The city would crumble without her. She claimed she was just a Ferelden immigrant from “buttfuck nowhere”, how much influence did she really have? 

 

She doubted herself. 

 

She was important. She didn’t see it - but she was. To Kirkwall, to her family, to her friends, to Fenris. 

 

They needed her.  _ He  _ needed her. Without her he’d probably be slumming in whatever hole he could find, trying to defeat the endless waves of bounty hunters and attempting to patch up his wound with ripped bandages. 

 

She was amazing. She claimed she was just like everyone else, just a normal person who was trying to find a home. But she was so much more than that. She cared. She volunteered to help whoever needed it, when she had absolutely no reason to. She helped the elves, the nobles, the immigrants, the locals, the mages, the Qunari - whoever needed a helping hand. 

 

She helped because no one else would.

 

Hawke was a beacon of light in a fucked up city that only helped itself. It was no wonder people gravitated towards her. 

 

There was Varric, currently perched on a wooden chair at her writing desk - the dwarf who took a chance on her when no one else would. He helped her find a way out of the hole she lived in, and in return she made his life interesting and bright. Dangerous and wildly out of control, but Varric didn’t see that as a bad thing. 

 

He was normally smiling, cracking jokes, and charming the pants off of whoever was near, but now he just looked sad. Like he was wilting. It was strange. 

 

Or Aveline, leaning against a wall looking grim. She had guards to order around, a city to control, but she was here. Because she cared for Hawke. They were both Fereldens in a city full of people who - to be frank - didn’t like them very much. They had to stick together. 

 

Bodahn, who was torn between worrying, comforting Sandal, and rushing around trying to help as best he could. 

 

Anders and Merrill, rushing around madly trying to heal Hawke as best they could. Two very different mages coming together over a common cause. A common friend. They were in the dining room, muffled voices floating through the open doors. Fenris was just glad he couldn’t hear Hawke anymore. He couldn’t take it. He didn’t know how they could.

 

Sebastian. He and Hawke had very different opinions on the Chantry, there was no secret there. But they got along. Two people who felt like they didn’t really belong anywhere, struggling to find a home in a world that judged and judged. They shared a common thread in the shit shows that were their lives. 

 

And last there was Fenris. The Tevinter fugitive. The Lyrium ghost. The “broody porcupine” as Varric so kindly put it. The angry elf who struggled to find his freedom. Who fought for it with tooth and nail, with bone and blood. He was very different to Hawke. He was an Elf, she was not. He didn’t like and didn’t trust mages, she did. He had no family. She did. 

 

But in some ways they were very similar. They both didn’t really feel like they belonged in Kirkwall - Hawke had told him so. She was used to the Ferelden rain, the mud, the endless rolling hills and lush trees. Not the dull brick of Kirkwall. He was used to a life he despised, living on a leash, living in luxury but only because he did not belong to himself. He stuck out in Tevinter, and even more so in Kirkwall. 

 

They both fought. For what they wanted. For what they needed. For what they believed in. The people. Their friends. Freedom. 

 

She cared. Her heart was a seemingly bottomless pit with and endless capacity to forget herself if it meant helping others. Even if she didn't really want to. They needed her so she gave herself up willingly (with only mild complaining).

 

And she cared for him. In such a way that made him ache with every fibre of his being, every bone, every ache, every part of his body and soul. He wasn’t a person you cared for. He was a person you feared. A person you avoided. A person who looked like he was thinking about murdering you. 

 

But she saw past it. To the man beneath the glare. Beneath the brooding look and spiky armour. And she cared for that man. Helped him when he asked for it, offered help when he  _ didn’t  _ ask for it. 

 

And Fenris didn’t know how to cope. But that didn’t mean he wanted her to stop. He didn’t want her to stop looking out for him in battle, he didn’t want her to stop glancing over at him while they walked through Hightown and just  _ smiling _ , he didn't want her to stop ranting at him after a few glasses of wine, he didn’t want her to stop telling him that his life in Tevinter was “fucked” and Danarius was “a real dickhead.”

 

He missed her lame jokes, and her pulling faces when she got her armour caught in her hair, and her fondness for books, and her preference for cats (and her calling herself “not a true Ferelden”) but at the same time it was all too much. 

 

Too much, too fast, too  _ all at once. _ She was a whirlwind of a person who tore through life leaving no one untouched. And he got caught in all that she was. 

 

Her passion, her loyalty, the care she dealt out like cards, her  _ love. _

 

She had never said it in so many words, but he felt it. And it was more than enough. She radiated it and he felt like he was drowning. Her love was a sea and he was deep in the middle of it. 

 

He was stranded and she was the sea but also the saviour. 

 

He was gasping for air, wanting it,  _ needing _ it. She was the only one who could pull him from the ocean but he didn’t know if he could grab ahold. Grasp her outstretched hand and be pulled from the ocean of emotions he was sinking into. 

 

It was too much. Flashes of his past, all at once, faces, names, words, books, places, emotions, running through his mind like a stampeding herd. There one moment and gone the next. And all he was left with was the nothing of his mind. 

 

He felt empty. Crushed. Like someone pulled all of his memories out only to shove them back down again, punching at his mind, leaving an empty void within his mind once more.

 

He never thought something like this could ever happen. He didn’t know a person could do this to him. That one night with Hawke was unlike anything he had ever seen, felt, or done. 

 

\---

 

_ It started on a different night. _

 

_ He needed to apologise. He needed to see her. He couldn’t keep her out of his mind.  _

 

_ He had apologised. Hawke said she had worried. He said he couldn’t let Hadriana go. She asked a question. He explained. He left. _

 

_ She had been so kind to him, when he felt he did not deserve it. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. She meant something to him like he had never felt before. He needed to show her. So he went back. And waited.  _

 

_ The moment he saw her he was up on his feet. It was burning inside him, and he couldn’t sit still any longer. Couldn’t let his insides churn and writhe. Couldn’t be apart from her. _

 

_ “Fenris?” She said, his name rolling off her tongue and hanging in the air like dust. He treasured the way she said his name. She said with care, as if it was something she did not want to risk breaking. But not as if he was fragile, but as if he was precious.  _

 

_ “I have been thinking of you.” He said, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush. He couldn’t let them sit on his tongue like poison. “In fact, I have been able to think of little else. Command me to go, and I shall.” _

 

_ Out of everyone Hawke knew, Fenris knew what it was like to be a part of a situation you didn’t want to be in the best. And he would not inflict that on Hawke. If she didn't have time, if she did not want to see him then he would go. It would make his heart ache like it never had, but he would get over it. He was not meant to be happy. To have nice things. But it was not his fault, nor was it Hawke’s. It’s simply the way it worked.  _

 

_ “You can stay,” Hawke started, voice quiet. She was nervous. But as she had joked before - she almost always was, so what’s new? But not due to fear. Terror. She was not scared of him. “If you want.” _

 

_ She wanted him there. She wanted his company. His heart hitched in his chest, his breath quickened, his pulse raced. _

 

_ Fenris moved towards her. With purpose. He was no longer a slave, he knew what he wanted, and if Hawke was willing - then Fenris wanted her.  _

 

_ Putting his hand on her arm - gently, as his gauntlets were not something to be handled carelessly - he stepped closer to her.  _

 

_ She inhaled. A sharp, sudden breath. He could almost feel it.  _

 

_ He waited for Hawke to give some sort of sign. Was this what she wanted? _

 

_ Fenris knew she had little to no experience with relationships. Isabela brought it up in conversation, and Hawke had consumed enough wine to speak freely and without all her usual anxiety.  _

 

_ She had said that ‘With the blight fucking Ferelden and Kirkwall fucking itself, there’s not a lot of room for relationships. Because I’m always caught in the fucking middle.’ And before then, when she was younger, any time someone showed interest in her she ‘freaked the fuck out’.  _

 

_ Everyone had laughed, but Fenris saw that she was serious. She had joked, but this genuinely made her nervous. So now, with his hand on her arm and the other hovering at his side, he waited. Looked into her eyes.  _

 

_ Wide and unblinking, she started back at him. She took a deep breath, and then nodded. Just enough that he could see it. He brought his other hand up to her head, brushing her hair out of her face.  _

 

_ Giving her more time to say no. He would not force this on her. She didn’t say a word, just looked up at him. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Raking his gauntleted hand through her long brown hair, he pushed it so it rested behind her ear.  _

 

_ Gently placing his hand on her jaw, he looked down at her. She smiled, and he felt her tentative hands resting on his waist. Light fingers brushing the fabric of his tunic, grazing the edge of his belt.  _

 

_ He leant in. And she did not lean away. They were so close, faces almost touching but not quite. He was taking his time. He did not want to rush, to let all of his emotions explode where they were not wanted. Plus, he wanted to savour this moment. He had never had one quite like it, and didn’t know if he ever would again. _

 

_ Her breath hitched.  _

 

_ “Mistress Hawke?”  _

 

_ Hawke jumped, and he took care not to graze her with his sharp gauntlets. He removed his hands from her and stepped aside, Hawke’s hands leaving his waist. He could feel the absence of her hands on his skin, on his body. It was strangely empty.  _

 

_ “Orana,” Hawke said in a slightly strangled voice. “Is everything okay?” _

 

_ “Oh yes,” Orana started, eyes flicking between the two people in the entrance to the estate. “Bodahn was just wondering if you wanted roast or stew for dinner tonight.” _

 

_ Hawke froze, letting out a continuous ‘uh’ sound as she thought. He fought back a laugh. her cheeks were flushed red. “Roast I guess.”  _

 

_ “Of course, Mistress. I’ll let you know when it’s ready. ” Orana said, taking a step backwards. Her cheeks pinkened slightly. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting. I'm sorry Mistress.”  _

 

_ “It’s fine, Orana. Really,” Hawke said, smiling to comfort the girl. She had only been working at the estate for a short while, but she already seemed to be much better than she was in the holding caves. She wasn't as scared, as anxious. But she still acted like a slave. Reliant on Hawke. Wanting her approval. It was hard to shake. Fenris knew it better than anybody else. It had been years, and he was still unlearning. _

 

_ Fenris turned to Hawke and there was still a very visible flush on her cheeks. Orana left, and he turned to Hawke.  _

 

_ She gave him a bashful look. “Sorry about that.” _

 

_ He gave her a small smile in return. “It’s fine. Not your fault.” _

 

_ “So,” She started, fidgeting with her hands and wringing them together. “Do you want to stay for dinner?’ _

 

_ “It would be my pleasure,” he replied.  _

 

_ The two of them had entered into the main room, and after popping open a bottle of wine and dragging over a few chairs, had settled in front of the fire. She held out her glass and smiled. “Cheers.” _

 

_ The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. He clinked his glass against hers. “Cheers.” _

 

_ They had spent a long time chatting and drinking by that fire, letting down their guards as they let the alcohol flow. He could still see her flushed face, from the heat of the fire, the wine in her system, or his company, he didn’t know.  _

 

_ At one point Hawke had abandoned her chair, and sat on the rug on the floor. She smiled and patted the patch of floor next to her. He raised an eyebrow. She patted harder. He rolled his eyes and sat on the floor.  _

 

_ “So Fenris,” She started, before taking another sip of her wine. They had emptied the bottle they shared, and Hawke was definitely not sober. She was a lightweight, and all her friends knew it - she had told them as much. She said it was almost a gift, she doesn’t have to worry about buying loads of alcohol to get drunk - which is kind of a blessing when you’re poor. Not that she was anymore - but the mentality stuck. “If you were never Danarius’ slave, what would you have wanted to do with your life?” _

 

_ He raised his eyebrow again.  _

 

_ “I know you have no memory of before, but like, guess, make it up, or whatever,” She started, waving her free hand around as she spoke. “If you don’t want to answer that’s fine and shit, I won’t make you but, I’m just curious ya know?”  _

 

_ He smiled. She was showing interest in him. Not his markings, not his ex-slave status, but him and what he wanted. It was nice.  _

 

_ “A mercenary probably,” He said, taking a swig of his own glass of wine.  _

 

_ She pulled a face. “That’s a boring answer and you know it.” _

 

_ “It is true.”  _

 

_ “It’s also boring. You could have said literally anything and I would have gone along with it.”  _

 

_ “Would you prefer if I tried again, or is it your turn?”  _

 

_ She gestured with her glass of wine, pointing it in his direction. “It’s my turn, as clearly I need to show you how it’s done.” _

 

_ He gestured back, as if to say ‘be my guest’. _

 

_ She scrunched up her face in thought for a second, looking intently at him. “Academic,” She finally said.  _

 

_ “I can barely read, Hawke,” he said, keeping his face neutral.  _

 

_ “First of all, you’re getting way better; second of all, I was operating under the premise that you were never Danarius’ slave and therefore learned how to read; and third of all; you’re totally smart enough to become an academic so fuck you.” She said all in a rush, pointing her wine glass at him before taking a large swig.  _

 

_ “So if I did become an academic,” he started, going along with her drunken line of thought. It was fun, if he was honest. “No one would take me seriously. I’m an elf, Hawke.”  _

 

_ “At first they wouldn’t,” She started. “But then you’d prove you’re way smarter than all the other academics across Seheron and Tevinter with the hundreds of languages you know and the thousands of cultures you’ve learnt and tucked away in that big ol’ brain of yours.”  _

 

_ “You sound like Varric,” he laughed. “Weaving outlandish tales.”  _

 

_ “I learned from the best,” She giggled in return, raising her glass in a sort of toast before downing the rest of her glass. “I’m going to get more wine. And check on dinner. That too.” _

 

_ He watched her go, smiling at her slightly off balanced walk and her hair swinging with each motion.  _

 

_ He was unsure where this evening was going to take him when he waited for Hawke in her entry way, going in with an intention, not a destination. Hawke was a wild woman, who attracted all kinds of trouble ten ways to sunday. There was no knowing where she would lead you. Fenris wasn’t complaining.  _

 

_ Drinking wine and making up an alternate future for him was unexpected, but welcomed all the same.  _

 

_ But the moment they almost had before Orana interrupted still lingered in the back of his mind.  _

 

\---

 

“Um, hello?”

 

His head jerked towards the noise as he was pulled from his memory. He was not sitting on the floor in front of a roaring fire, with a drunk Hawke asking about food in the next room. He was leaning against a cold, stone wall, covered in drying blood with an injured Hawke in the next room. 

 

Merrill was standing in the doorway, hands bloodied and armour pushed up off her arms as much as they could. She was wringing her hands together, skin pushed through her fingers and nails picking at dried blood. “We’ve finished.” 

 

Everyone stood up. Chairs scraped against the floor, armour grazed the walls, but everyone was silent. Hanging off of Merrill’s every word. Every breath that left her mouth. 

 

“She’s alive, she’s as fine as she can be - thank the Creators, but Anders will need to come back,” Merrill started, flapping her hands nervously. “He’s healed her insides, but her skin is only stitched together.”

 

“She’s stable, but not completely healed.” Sebastian added, stepping in behind Merrill. “She’s stuck on bed rest and ongoing healing for about a month, at least, according to Anders.” 

 

Varric took a step forward, brows furrowed. “How’s blondie doing?”

 

“Oh, he’s trying not to fall asleep on the floor,” Merrill added. “So we told him that she’s stable and he should go rest.” 

 

It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from Fenris’ shoulders. She was stable. She wouldn’t die. Her stomach may have been stitched together but she would live. 

 

A weight was lifted from the room, the anxiety and fear that was radiating out of everyone thinned until Fenris felt like he could finally breathe. 

 

“I wish I could stay longer,” Aveline started, sighing a little. “But the guard needs me. I’ll be by to visit as soon as I am able.”

 

The last comment was directed towards Bodahn - who said of course. No one would judge Aveline for leaving. She was Captain of the city guard. She nodded towards the others and left. 

 

“I should head off as well,” Isabela added, gesturing weakly to the door Aveline just left through. “Clean off all this blood - terrible for the complexion.”

 

“All of us should probably clean off this blood - it’ll stain otherwise,” Merrill said before gasping. “Oh, we need to clean up Hawke before we move her - do you think you all could help? We started as we worked but there’s rather a lot.”

 

“Of course Daisy,” Varric said, leading the others into the dining room where Hawke currently lay. Bodahn followed with Sandal - trying to make some use of himself. 

 

Fenris saw Hawke and tried to repress a gasp. He couldn’t show how much this was affecting him. Luckily for him, Isabela gasped as well, his own voice getting lost under hers. 

 

“Oh Hawke,” she said, her voice starting to waver. This happened to Hawke because of her, what she did, no wonder it was hitting her hard. She looked as if she wanted to bolt. To flee to the safety of the Hanged Man where she was comfortable. Where she could forget what happened to Hawke - at least for awhile. It was a fresh wound. 

 

“Shit,” Varric added, voicing what everyone was thinking. Fenris had hoped that she’d look better after healing. But she didn’t. She looked weak, tired - like a woman who almost died. 

 

She was covered in dirt and blood. The only clean spot was her wound - which was stitched together and ran from just below her ribs to above her hip bone. She was breathing easier than before - which was small relief. Her chest no longer heaving and spluttering, struggling to find air. 

 

Anders was ushered out of the room by Bodahn, who said he could wash and sleep here - since the healing was far from over. 

 

But all Fenris could focus on was Hawke. Merrill brought over the bucket of water Aveline retrieved before, along with a few clean rags. She placed it where they could all reach it, gave them all a rag, and started softly cleaning all the blood, dirt, and soot off of Hawke. 

 

Merrill and Isabela stood on either side of Hawke, gently holding her hands in between their own, wiping the grime off her calloused hands. They were doing an admirable job, but there was so much dirt under Hawke’s fingernails Fenris doubted they would get any of it out. But it was better than nothing. Going to sleep while dirty and stained with blood was never a pleasant feeling - one Fenris knew all too well on his time on the run. 

 

So he carefully wiped down her face, letting the cool water wash away the soot, revealing the pale skin underneath.

 

Hawke hissed, Fenris jerking his cloth away. There was a graze on the side of Hawke’s face, running past her eye. He must have brushed against it by accident - there was a lot of grime on her face, blood in particular - so it was almost impossible to see. It wasn't his fault, logically, he knew that, but he couldn’t help the pang in his chest.

 

He brushed a stray lock of her hair out of the way, the calloused pads of his fingertips brushing against the unmarked sections of her smooth skin. She sighed, and a part of Fenris went quiet. She did that sometimes. Made him quiet. Softening the harsh words born of anger and bitter hatred. Wearing down the sharp edges until he felt he was safer to handle. 

 

He was a broken vase and she bandaged his hands as he worked at putting himself back together. 

 

But not this time. This time, it was Hawke who had broken and everyone stayed to help pick up the pieces. For as long as the world let them.

 

So they hunched over the dining table once more, cleaning away blood and noting the grazes and cuts that littered her sleeping body.

 

Together they went over almost her entire body. By the end of it she was left in her smallclothes - slightly bloodstained - but none of them dared touch them. Fenris felt guilty looking enough as it was, staring at something he felt he could not and did not deserve to have.

 

He had seen her in her smallclothes before, travelling on the coast, and through Sundermount, it was bound to happen eventually, with everyone camping together and few places to wash off blood, dirt, or whatever entrails had made its way onto their armour. 

 

They worked in silence, only broken with the occasional comment about cleaning a different part of Hawke. They got lost in it. In the methodical and monotonous motions of the once clean rags wiping off grime. It didn’t take long for them to finish - at least it didn’t  _ seem _ to take that long.

 

Sebastian came back to join them, where Merrill, Isabela, and Fenris had been cleaning Hawke, he had been cleaning the kitchen. Wanting to help but not to remain in the way. 

 

“We should bandage her stomach,” He started, thick accent coating the air. “Cover her wound.” 

 

Fenris nodded, as Sebastian and Merrill gathered the remainder of the healing supplies - they both knew what they were doing. Fenris could bandage a wound, sure - but not well. 

 

Ordering - or asking, depending on how you looked at it, Sebastian said that to wrap the bandage around her stomach they’d need to lift her up. And Fenris was the one to do it. He was the strongest one here - undeniable now that Aveline had left. Varric stood by and watched, too short to reach the table with the ease of the others, and not wanting to crowdt the poor woman. 

 

Fenris lifted her slowly, almost cradling her shoulders as he tried his hardest not to cause an pain or rip the stitches. Merrill and Isabela quickly coated the wound with another layer of some paste or cream - most likely to clean the wound or remove any pain. Either way, Sebastian helped hold Hawke at a safe angle while the two women worked, waiting for his turn to really help and bandage her stomach. 

 

Merrill returned the jar of paste to the kitchen - where the rest of the healing supplies were. While Isabela and Sebastian stood on either side of Hawke and carefully wrapped the bandage. And Sebastian knew what he was doing too - the bandage was expertly wrapped. 

 

Fenris wasn’t focusing on the bandage too much. Just on Hawke. On her skin, pallid and sweaty. On her wound, held together, but still open. On her nails, edged with dirt and blood. On her eyes, closed, tensing and moving with frantic dreams. Almost everyone Hawke knew had bad dreams. They had been through much. But Hawke topped them all, having been  impaled through the stomach. The dreams would not be pleasant. 

 

Sebastian secured the bandage, and the remaining of Hawke’s friends - Sebastian, Merrill, Isabela, Varric, and of course - Fenris - headed out to the main living room. 

 

Bodahn was there - without Sandal this time - trying not to pace with worry. 

 

“Is the Mistress alright?” He asked, hands clasped together. “Oh I dread to think.”

 

“She’ll be alright. The wound is bandaged now, all we can do for her until Anders recovers is let her sleep.” Sebastian replied, words thick like honey, attempting to soothe.

 

“Her room is all set up, if someone wants to help carry her up to Bed?” Bodahn replied. “I don’t have the strength, or the height I’m afraid.” 

 

Isabela turned to Fenris. He stared back, before letting out a small sigh. “I can carry her again, if you wish.” 

 

As if he didn’t also wish to be the one to carry her, to hold her, even in a situation such as this. 

 

“Well if you boys have got it covered, I believe I have a date with a hot bath and a bottle of whiskey,” Isabela joked, winking, but Fenris knew well enough that she was covering with her sweet words. “Wish Hawke a safe recovery for me.” 

 

And with that, Isabela was gone. 

 

Sebastian turned to Bodahn, giving him a brief overview of some of the things he could do to help - passing on knowledge about non-magical healing. 

 

Merrill was chatting quietly with Varric, who was abnormally quiet for his usual self. After Aveline and the rest of the Hawke clan of course, he had known Hawke the longest. Was the closest to her. And he watched her brush with death. Flirt with it. Embrace it tenderly, before death walked away and Hawke crumbled. 

 

He went to fetch her. She was still on the table, looking sad and sick. If her chest wasn’t moving with each unsteady breath, she’d look dead. Brushing off the thought, he moved closer and slid his arms underneath her, trying to get leverage to pick her up without hurting her. 

 

He took his time. Pausing with every wince, every uncomfortable noise that passed her lips, until she was settled in his arms. On hand resting on her bandaged stomach, the other hanging limp at her side. 

 

Slowly walking to the main room, he took care to walk as smooth as he could, no harsh footsteps or bumps. He was taking more care with her than he ever did with himself. 

 

She was shivering now, with all her skin bare and exposed. Shaking against Fenris’ arms. He wanted so dearly to wrap her in a blanket and hold her until it stopped. But he could not. 

 

Merrill gasped. “Oh, I’ll go prep her bed.” She said before running off upstairs, to push all her covers down to the bottom of the bed so it’d be easier to get into, he presumed. Varric followed.

 

He walked up the stairs as fast as he dared, taking each step as carefully a she could. Make his walk seamless. Light on his feet. He was a warrior, he knew this well. Just never in a context of healing. 

 

He was never a healer. Never would be. All he could do was hurt. 

 

Her flesh was damp and cold against the warm pads of his hands. Shivering under his touch, but relying on it completely. Without him she would fall, it was normally the other way around. 

 

Entering Hawke’s room, he felt a wash of warmth roll over him. Merrill was on the cool stone floor near the fireplace, poking at the burning logs with a poker. Lit it with magic, most likely. Varric had pushed all her covers down to the end of her bed, and was plumping her pillows.

 

The sheets were still the rich red they were last time Fenris was in here. Warm and Inviting. Plus - they’d make it easier to hide the blood stains. He placed her down gently, hand cradling the back of her neck as her head was lowered onto the pillow. 

 

She sighed as he let go. She could finally rest. 

 

Fenris grabbed the sheets from where they were stacked at the end of her bed, Varric grabbing the other side, and together they pulled them up to cover Hawke. She needed the Warmth. She needed to much and Fenris didn’t know if he could give it all to her. But he wanted to try.

 

He looked at her once more.

 

Not saying another word, he left the estate. He started the walk through Hightown to his own mansion, pulling his gloves back on as he did so. 

 

A noble lady walked by, followed by an elven servant. The noble looked at him and gasped, pausing as she walked. He steeled his gaze and walked further. He was not in a mood to deal with one of the wealthy nobles that littered Kirkwall’s hightown. The Qunari invaded and Hawke almost died. It was understandable he was in a mood. 

 

Forcing the door open, he stormed into the decrepit mansion he had not yet called home. It was chilly, cold air wafting through open windows and holes in the roof. A fire would be needed. For warmth, light, heat to cook food. It wasn’t until now, the ordeal was over that Fenris’ fatigue hit him. He had not eaten, drank, or even thought about rest in a long while.

 

His body was starting to pay him back for it.

 

He would have thought that after years of living with Danarius and Hadriana, he’d be used to a lack of food or sleep. But he wasn’t in Tevinter any more. He wasn’t a slave. He was in Kirkwall, and he  _ wasn’t  _ a slave. 

 

In one of the room he barely used, he found a pile of wood from when he had pulled some old furniture apart. A bench and a few chairs - now firewood. He grabbed what he could carry and went up to what he supposed was his bedroom. The only room he used, saved for the kitchen.

 

There was a small crate he kept in his room - full of kindling, a flint and steel, some spare wood. In case he didn’t have the energy to go down the stairs for his main supplies. 

 

He didn’t have the energy. 

 

He lit the fire, watching the sparks glow in the dark crevice of the fireplace, until the old paper and bits of kindling caught alight. A tiny - but dearly needed source of light and heat. He grabbed an old one-handed sword he kept lying around to poke the firewood, hoping for a steady blaze to start.

 

Fenris watched it burn.

 

Putting on a few big logs, he strapped his sword to his back and headed downstairs. He couldn’t relax yet, and if he didn’t do the things he needed to do now, they’d never get done. There was a big cauldron-like pot he kept in the kitchen, and with all the blood on him, he’d need the water  to bathe. 

 

Sighing, he headed out into the night. Sword on his back, cauldron in hand. He headed out to find the nearest well or water pump that wasn’t being guarded by thugs. Tonight, he was not in the mood for it. 

 

He was intimidating. He was a heavily armed elf covered in blood. He steeled his gaze and marched towards the nearest source of water. He took no notice of the cool stone underneath his bare feet. The rough edges he was used to, his feet hardened by years of walking barefoot. 

 

Fenris was tough as nails. He would not be shaken. So when he saw a group of thugs guarding the water pump he stopped in his tracks. Not out of fear. Quite the opposite. He was ready. He placed his cauldron on the ground and drew his sword. Lowering his head, he glared at the thugs from underneath his hair. Three men,  two women. Average armour. Two with bows, three with swords and shields. 

 

Scratch that. Three men, three women. Average armour. Two with bows, three with swords and shields, one with daggers waiting in the shadows. 

 

With enough time spent in  Isabela and Hawke’s company he grew to know how rogues work. Of course there’d be one waiting.

 

Picking up his cauldron, with his sword still in hand, he walked towards the thugs. 

 

“Lookie here boys, another elf sent to fetch water.” One of the thugs said, weapons held casually in his hands. He wasn’t expecting to fight. He was to intimidate. “Wonder if he knows the rules?”

 

Fenris put down his cauldron, sword still held at his side.

 

“You gotta pay to get the water. Woman’s got to earn a living somehow.” A woman added, walking towards him. 

 

He walked towards her in kind. A scowl growing across his face. He was angry. So angry. Hawke had almost died to protect the people of Kirkwall. People that included them. And they were threatening people for money. Taking advantage of her sacrifice. 

 

If it weren’t for his gauntlets, his nails would have been digging into his palm. His fist was clenched. The lyrium was rising in his skin. In his blood. Humming. Glowing. 

 

He didn’t know how to describe it. Like his blood was vibrating within his body. Burning. The markings in his hand were glowing a bright blue. Visible even through his gauntlet. 

 

Gasps of surprise. Tensing of muscles. Loosen the knees. Easier to move. Fists tightening their grip on the weapons. 

 

“Leave.” 

 

Fenris’ voice echoed through the small courtyard. Deep and heavy. Strong.

 

“As if we’d listen to an elf like you,” The woman with the sword said, appearing in control. But it was a lie. Her voice was wavering, eyes flickering back to her comrades. She took a step forward.

 

“Then you leave me no choice,” he said striding towards the woman. And he plunged his hand into her chest. He could feel everything and nothing at once. Her heart gripped so tightly in his hand, but at the same time he wasn’t there at all. 

 

Gasps, her body shaking. Held up only by his hand and sheer force of will. 

 

He ripped her heart out. She collapsed to the floor.

 

“Leave,” He repeated, raising his blade. “Lest you face the same fate.”

 

They ran. 

 

He got his water and returned to the mansion. The fire was still burning, the room slightly warmer now. Grabbing a spare bucket from the corner, he scooped out some of the water to make soup for himself. It was easy. 

 

The bucket was left on the side of the room. He needed to get the blood off of him. Hawke’s blood. No longer sticky and wet but drying and solidifying on his skin. On his armour. On his clothes.

 

He set up the cauldron stand, and placed the pot above the still burning fire. 

 

Using his spare sword, he poked at the burning logs, breaking them up and sending embers spiraling around the room. 

 

Fire symbolised safety. Home. He hadn’t really thought that before. Fires were survival, get warm or die. Cook food or die. But that night at Hawke’s, for the first time he realised how safe a fire could feel.

 

\---

 

_ They had had their wine, ate their food, and settled on the rug in front of the fire once more. Hawke was leaning on one of her knees, cheek pressed into the soft fabric of her pants. Eyelids blinking sluggishly, smile soft.  _

 

_ “I was supposed to answer my letters tonight,” She said, breaking the careful silence they had created. He didn’t mind. “But I think I’m a tad too drunk.” _

 

_ He laughed, a huff of air. Lips pulling up at the side, he turned to see Hawke pulling a face, hair falling into her face. _

 

_ “Plus I really don’t want to,” She added. _

 

_ He laughed, a proper laugh this time. “You’ll have to reply eventually.” _

 

_ Hawke slumped over so she was lying down on the rug, sighing. “But every time I answer a letter I just get more.” _

 

_ “Seems the people of Kirkwall are taking advantage of someone who actually does what they say they will,” Fenris said, smirking over at Hawke. _

 

_ She rolled over to her stomach, leaning on her arms, right next to Fenris’ leg. He could almost touch her. “First off - sick burn. Secondly - it’s so fucking tiring I don’t know why I do it.” _

 

_ “Because you care,” He said, words tumbling out of his mouth before he could really process it. _

 

_ Face down on the floor, Hawke let out a long groan, before sitting up cross legged next to Fenris. “Why are you always right?” _

 

_ She was swaying where she sat, eyes struggling to stay open. He should go, leave her to get some sleep but he really didn't want to. And for once in his life, Fenris wanted to do something for himself. Be selfish in a way he was never allowed. _

 

_ “I’m not,” He replied, trying to restrain a fond look but failing.  _

 

_ Hawke let out an drunken scoff. “Horse shit. Your instincts about things are great. I’ve led us into shit so many fucking times it’s ridiculous.” _

 

_ “You could blame the people who asked you for help,” he added. _

 

_ She sighed dramatically. “But I’m the one who said I’d help. So technically...” _

 

_ Sentence left hanging, Hawke let out a large yawn, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Maker fuck, I’m tired.”  _

 

_ “Do you want to sleep?” Fenris asked almost reluctantly. _

 

_ “Nah. I’ll just doze,” Hawke replied as she curled up on the rug, head resting on her hands.  _

 

_ She looked peaceful, messy brown hair falling into her face, face soft and untouched by harsh lines and harsher emotions. Her skin looked soft to the touch, and he yearned to reach out and touch it, just for a second. To feel that connection between two people. Between him and Hawke.  _

 

_ But he knows she’s not as soft as she seems, skin littered with scars, after so many years dealing with daggers and swords, mages and battles, she was tough. Weary. Tired. Bitter. But she didn’t let it consume her. She had so much room in her heart to help the helpless, stand up for what  she felt was right. The love she felt for her family and friends.  _

 

_ “Hey Fenris,” She said quietly, eyes still closed. Eyelashes casting shadows like spider webs across her face, flickering with every crack, pop, and wave of the fire. It was burning lower now, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.  _

 

_ He hummed in response. Not wanting to shift the mood. Lift the quiet. _

 

_ “What’s your favourite colour?” _

 

_ Out of all the things Hawke could have said, he wasn’t expecting that. She was a constant surprise, and spending time with her was always an adventure. He loved it. _

 

_ He hadn’t really thought about it before. “Green.” _

 

_ “What kind of green?” Hawke said, eyes still shut. “Dark, or bright, or deep like your eyes?” _

 

_ He looked down, and tried to hide a smile. _

 

_ Pursing his lips, he thought. Not dark, like the very depths of sundermount, or bright, like some of the clothes the nobles wear - but dull. No, not dull.  _

 

_ “Muted,” he said. Like fresh grass in spring, or leaves dripping with rain. Soft. “And yourself?” _

 

_ “Purple, of course. It’s the prettiest.” She replied almost immediately. _

 

_ “Much like yourself,” He replied, looking down at Hawke. And she was. Pretty. Even in armour and coated in spider guts, she was pretty. It was not just about her looks, but her smile, her attitude. Her everything. _

 

_ She immediately buried her face into her hands. But he could see the edges of her concealed smile. He could hear it too, as she muffled a quiet squeal into her hands. _

 

_ He smiled at the sight of her. He’d allow himself that. _

 

_ “Shut up,” she said as she uncovered her face, but she didn’t mean it. That was clear. Her face was flushed red - more so than before. Fenris smiled as she yawned again. _

 

_ “Do you want to sleep?” He asked, peering down at her pink face.  _

 

_ She threw her hands up in the air as she responded. “But I don’t want you to go, i’m having fun.” _

 

_ “That’s not what I suggested. Do you want to sleep?” Fenris asked, feeling bold after so much wine and so much warmth. _

 

_ Hawke’s blush deepened, and she looked away. She yawned again. “I think that yawn answers your question.” _

 

_ Fenris laughed, a huff of air, and shifted into a more comfortable sitting position.  _

 

_ They sat in silence for a while, enjoying each others company. He listened to her breathing, and the crack of the wood in the fire. It was peaceful, which his life rarely was. _

 

_ A slide of fabric against carpet. A warm weight on his thigh. Hawke was leaning on his leg, eyes still shut, soft brunette hair fanning out over his lap.  _

 

_ Fenris froze. He didn't know what to do. Not that he didn’t like it per say - he just needed to adjust to the sensation. _

 

_ No one said anything, but they both were tense.  _

 

_ Not only could he hear her breath, but he could feel it on his leg. His leggings were good for combat - thin enough to move well, but thick enough that they were more protection than regular pants - but they weren’t thick enough that he couldn’t feel her.  _

 

_ “Is this okay?” She whispered, not wanting to break the fragile equilibrium they were situated within.  _

 

_ “Of course,” He whispered back, and he let the tension out of his muscles. He felt her do the same - relax and slowly melt into his legs. _

 

_ It was nice. Really nice. Feeling that closeness with another person with no pressure to do anything at all.  _

 

_ And so he sat, Hawke resting on his legs, listening to her breath even out and the fire start to dim. _

 

_ She fell asleep.  _

 

_ Fenris tentatively lifted his hand onto her head, feeling her hair underneath the pads of his fingers. He took his gloves off before he ate dinner, and never bothered to put them back on again. There wasn’t a point.  _

 

_ Moving carefully, he dragged his hand through Hawke’s hair. Waiting for a move, or a noise, or any objection whatsoever. But there wasn’t one. _

 

_ He kept stroking his hands through her hair, feeling her steady breaths as she fell asleep. He tried his hardest not to move. _

 

_ Fenris was unsure of how long he sat there, but going by the cramp in his leg - it had been a while.  _

 

_ A creak of wood. Fenris turned towards the noise, hand twitching to reach for a sword that wasn’t there. It was just a door, Bodahn coming into the main room.  _

 

_ Hawke groaned, muffled as she pressed her face into Fenris’ thigh. He tensed, and saw Bodahn pull an apologetic face. Hawke continued to groan at protest of being woken up, and didn’t see Bodahn slip through the room with Sandal towards their own room.  _

 

_ “I assume you can take care of Mistress Hawke?” The Dwarf whispered. He was holding a candle, with a book pressed under his arm.  _

 

_ Fenris just nodded, and watched Bodahn and his boy leave.  _

 

_ He tried to return to his original position - leg cramp be damned - so that Hawke would settle and he could feel the soft weight of her body against his, her hair fanning out over his leg, her soft breaths merging with the crack of the fire.  _

 

_ But she sat up, hair messy and sticking out in tangles. He repressed the urge to smile, to see Hawke so vulnerable and soft, weighed down with sleep, as opposed to injuries and the strain of battle.  _

 

_ He imagined this is what it would be like to wake up next to her. Her eyes drooping with sleep, all soft with herself laid bare. No armour, no pretending to be anything other than she was.  _

 

_ “Sorry I woke you.” He said, breaking the silence with his voice dropped low.  _

 

_ “‘s okay,” She mumbled, running a hand over her face. “I should probably not fall asleep on the floor. Or you, rather. Or on you, on the floor.” _

 

_ His lips twitched into a smile. _

 

_ “I should probably get into bed is what I’m saying.” She finished, her face flushing gently. _

 

_ Fenris stood up, holding out a hand to the woman before him. “Then don’t let me keep you.” _

 

_ She bit her lip, looking down at the floor. “It’s rather late, and we both know there’s a fuck ton of bandits out there.” _

 

_ “It is Kirkwall, after all,” He said, trying to hide the hitch in his heart. He had an idea of what she was going to say. What he wanted her to say.  _

 

_ “Do you want to stay?”  _

 

_ Her lips were torn, teeth biting down on them. Hands twisting together, as if she could wrench the skin off of her bones.  _

 

_ It was if a wave of relief and stress rolled through his body all at once. “Of course.” _

 

\---

 

The Fire had started to die out, embers burning slowly, casting a faint orange glow upon the bricks. There wasn’t any point in staying awake. Or trying to, at the very least. Hawke most likely wouldn’t wake for a very long time.

 

Grabbing his sword and dagger, he placed them gently beside the bed. Just in case. The mansion wasn’t  exactly protected, or well sealed. And there was always a number of unsavoury people running around trying to rob, and steal, whatever else. 

 

Lying down on the old mattress, Fenris let out a sigh. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not with Hawke. Not with what he had gone through, almost losing her. 

 

But his body was so, so tired. With the battle, and the almost excessive use of his markings trying to keep Hawke safe, he had drained himself. And then he almost lost her. His body needed the sleep, but his brain was constantly running. What will happen to her? What if? What if? What if?

 

Turning, he faced the hole in the wall, bed creaking underneath him. The blanket was moving with the wind, a faint breeze blowing through and kissing him across the face as it passed. 

 

Kirkwall wouldn’t be the same after this. Hawke would not be the same. But she would pretend she is. The exact same person. Just a nobody from Ferelden with a rag tag group of friends and a mildly confusing family. She’d laugh, and smile, and joke. But then she’d turn her back. And Fenris knew her face would fall. 

 

She carried a heavy burden, and didn’t want to load it onto anyone else. It wasn’t their problem, she’d say. She had it. 

 

But she didn’t have to. She had ended up on a mission to save Kirkwall, but she didn’t let herself accept  that she had help. She had her friends at her side.

  
  


\---

 

Fenris woke up in a sweat, his tunic and leggings sticking to his skin. His hair was plastered to his forehead, running his hands through it he unstuck his hair, now sticking together in sweaty clumps.

 

Pushing his blankets off of him, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and heaved a breath at the feel of the cool stone on his bare feet. 

 

It was just a dream. A nightmare. Hawke didn't die. She was alive, - injured but healing. 

 

He forced himself to focus. On the cool wind blowing in through the hole in the wall him and Hawke hastily patched up with a few thick blankets. Neither of them were stonemasons, but Fenris didn’t want to spend money on this hellhole of a mansion.

 

Picking up his sword off the floor, he listened to the scrape of metal against stone, used it to anchor him to the moment. The cool of the early morning. He gripped the handle with both hands, muscles tensing and clenching at his blade.

 

It was almost a comfort. 

 

He stayed there for as long as he could, feeling the cool air dry the sweat that coated his skin like armour.

 

It was still dark, but he knew that soon the dark sky would lighten with hints of purple and blue, almost pink with the dawn.

 

Letting go of his sword, he sighed and got out of bed. There was no point in trying to sleep. So he grabbed his armour, and slowly put it on, each piece another layer of protection. His chest piece, his arms, his gauntlets. 

 

Strapping his sword to his back he left his decaying mansion, and began the short walk to the Hawke Estate. 

 

Hightown was empty. Much as it was last night. You could almost forget what had happened the night before. Almost. If you looked past the towering estates that were starting to crumble around the edges. The rubble in the street. The remains of charred objects - benches, barrels and the like. 

 

He paused in front of the door. Maybe no one was awake to hear him knocking. Maybe they don’t want him there. Maybe he should just go.

 

But he couldn’t. Not again. 

 

Fenris knocked, gauntlets scraping against the door. Stepping back, he looked down as he waited for something to happen. His feet were bare - as always, and the ground was dirty - as always. Scuffing his feet against the ground, he just moved the dirt around, kicked some rubble. An simple task to soothe his anxious mind. 

 

“Serah Fenris,” Bodahn said, very clearly still in his clothes from the day before. His eyes were sullen and face weary, as if he was slowly being pulled down by the weight of himself. “Mistress Hawke still has not woke up, but you’re welcome to come in.”

 

“Many thanks,” He replied, nodding. Entering into the Hawke Estate he was overwhelmed by the all too heavy memories of last night. You could still see the blood on the floor. The dirt and rubble they had dragged in. “Bodahn, are you alright?”

 

The man looked up with a start, as he closed the door behind him. “As much as I can be,” he said with an all too weary smile on his face. “Couldn’t sleep so I watched over the Mistress. Didn’t want her to be alone in case something happened. 

 

The two men walked into the main hall together, and all Fenris could see was the slightly ajar door to Hawke’s bedroom.

 

“I can watch her.” he said, without thinking. “Just in case. While you get some sleep. Before Sandal wake up, I assume.”

 

“Thank you, Serah,” Bodahn replied, gently clasping Fenris gauntlets. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.

 

\---

 

_ “Oh shit,” Hawke said, cringing as her bare feet touched the ground, shoes abandoned at the foot of her bed. “I keep forgetting how cold this floor is. How do you go barefooted all the time?” _

 

_ She gestured at him, and his bare feet. As they always were. “Used to it I guess.” _

 

_ “Maybe your feet are just super strong, like the rest of you.” She said, sitting down on one side of the rather large, and very inviting looking bed. “Compared to me and my weak human feet.” _

 

_ “You and your feet could never be weak,” he replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  _

 

_ Hawke snorted, crossing her legs underneath her. “I know you said you were going to practice your flattery, but I think you might need to practice a bit more. Never had someone compliment my feet before.” _

 

_ “Sounds like I will just need to keep complimenting you then,” he replied, tentatively stepping towards the other side of the bed. His heart fluttered in his chest, like a bird trying to escape the cage of his ribs, keeping it from bursting out from where it was safe from everyone’s prying eyes. Where it was just for him, and him alone. _

 

_ “I think I’d quite like that,” She replied, ducking her head almost shyly. She would have blushed if  her face wasn’t already flushed. Gesturing to the other side of the bed, she spoke again. “You’re allowed to sit on the bed you know.” _

 

_ Flirting was fine, banter was fine, dinner was fine, even her dozing on him was fine, but sleeping in the same bed. It was a whole new step. One he hadn't dared take. What if a nightmare woke him up and scared the other person away? What if they turned out like Danarius? _

 

_ But Hawke was not Danarius. She could  _ never _ be like him.  _

 

_ “I know.” He replied, looking down at her through his lashes. And he sat on the bed. The sheets were softer than they looked - if it was possible. You could tell Hawke was now living the high life. Or her mother had forced it on her - rather. It was softer than anything he had slept on. But that might have been the company more than the sheets.  _

 

_ She had already lain down, hair splayed out on the pillow behind her, eyes blinking sleepily. The covers were pushed down, waiting. For Fenris to join her. She patted the bed beside her.  _

 

_ He smiled, ducking his head so she couldn’t see in the candle light. Mirroring her position, he lay down next to her, eons of space in between them, the chill air tickling his skin.  _

 

_ “Thank you for joining me,” She whispered, laying there in her lounge clothes, not bothering to pull up her covers just yet. “I had a really nice night.” _

 

_ “As did I,” He replied, and he could feel nothing but affection for the woman in front of him. Who saw past all his anger, his hatred, his ‘broody’ and ‘prickly’ personality as Varric would have put it. “But I believe I know a way to make it better.” _

 

_ “Oh?” She said, voice barely audible. As if she was scared of breaking the moment between them. As if one off word, one wrong move, and it’d shatter like glass. He could almost feel her heart hammering away in her chest.  _

 

_ Just as his was. _

 

_ “There was something we didn’t quite get around to earlier,” Fenris said, voice low and soft, almost husky. He shifted closer to her, just the slightest amount. Itching to close the distance between her.  “Before we got... interrupted.” _

 

_ “Yeah?” She replied, voice creeping higher in her throat. “Mind reminding me?” _

 

_ “It would be my pleasure,” _

 

_ Brushing his hand along the side of her face, he took in all of her. The shadows of her eyelashes dancing across her cheeks with the flickering of the candlelight. Shifting his weight, he moved closer, eyes darting between her wide eyes, and her open mouth.  _

 

_ Hawke licked her lips, Fenris following the motion with hungry eyes. He wanted this so much. He wanted  _ her _ so much. But he couldn’t fuck it up. She deserved the best. He leaned in, leaving almost no space between them. He could feel the thudding of her heart, the hitch in her breath, the shiver than ran over her skin.  _

 

_ “You planning on closing the distance?”She tilted her chin, just ever so slightly, and her lip brushed his. With his breath caught in his throat, he was almost frozen.  _

 

_ “If you would like me to,” He asked, making sure he wasn’t overstepping.  _

 

_ “Of course.” _

 

_ He moved his hand so it was cupping her jaw, calloused fingertips drawing down impossibly soft skin. And before he could psyche himself out of it, before he did something without thinking, he kissed her. Lips pressing to hers, gently. It was caring, soft, unlike any touch he had ever received but had so dearly craved.  _

 

_ Hands touching his chest, lips pressed gently against his, she kissed back. She was is in no rush, taking it step by step, moment by moment, enjoying the night as it happened.  _

 

_ He had dreamed of this moment. Ached for it. It was so much. He pressed into her, deepening the kiss. He couldn’t help himself, giving into the hunger that was starting to burn in his gut, churning his insides. Bring his other hand up to her face, he held her close as they kissed. As he kissed her, and she kissed him back.  _

 

_ Their breaths intertwining, tasting of wine and desire and so much more. Her hands curled into his tunic, grasping the fabric. She pulled away, slowly drawing her lips away from his, gasping for breath.  _

 

_ He chased her lips, instinctively, without thinking. She giggled, pupils blown and lips pink and raw.  _

 

_ “I think we should sleep,” She said, voice still a whisper.  _

 

_ “Oh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Laughing, she looked down, and hit him lightly across the chest.  _

 

_ “Not like that.” Hawke said, looking down and biting her lip. “Fenris. Can I tell you something?” _

 

_ “Of course,” and he waited with bated breath for Hawke to voice what she was thinking. Before she teared her lips to shreds. Or her mind, over analysing every possible outcome to the conversation. _

 

_ Taking a deep breath, she spoke slowly. “I don’t think I could sleep with you. As in sex. Not because of you or anything you did-” She added, quickly to make sure he knew it wasn’t about him. He nodded, waiting for her to finish. “I just don’t like it. Or the thought of it. Isabela talks about how it’s nature, but I’ve never thought about it. Or wanted it. I’m sorry.” _

 

_ “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said, just as soft as she was. As the moment required. “I understand where you’re coming from. Not completely, but I get it.” _

 

_ She heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank the maker. But I’m fine with sleeping in the same bed as you, if you’re not to worried about it ruining your tough guy reputation.” _

 

_ Snorting, he laughed, brushing her hair out of her face, so his hand rested at the base of her neck. “I’m fine with that.” _

 

_ “Not worried I’d tell?” _

 

_ “Not in the slightest.” _

 

\---

 

She didn’t look like herself. With her sunken face, restless eyes, layers and layers of bandages wrapping her shivering body.

 

There was a lone chair next to the bed - where Bodahn must have been - he assumed. Giving in to the heaviness in his bones, he sunk into the chair. He was still tired, still anxious - almost ridiculously so. Seeing her, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed sated the ache. But it didn’t go away. 

 

He didn’t want to leave her. That morning. But he had to. It was too much. He was too fucked up with too much baggage. She was sad, but she understood. 

 

Fenris had no idea if she’d wait for him, if she’d move on or not, but she had seemed fine with regrowing their friendship in the meantime. And he’d take anything she was willing to give. 

 

He’d be there for her now. This he could do. Watch and wait for the pair of them to heal. Make knows if it would take weeks, months, years, for them to recover from what they went through - are currently going through - but if they had gained one thing from this shithole of a city, it was the fact they didn’t have to do it alone. 

 

“Fenris?” Jerking upright, he looked to see Hawke blinking sleepily at him, eyes struggling to stay open. “Is tha’ you?”

 

“Yeah Hawke,” he said softly, voice low and soft like velvet. Aiming to soothe her and lul her back to sleep. “I’m here.”

 

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just have a lot of feelings okay  
> Feel free to check out my tumblr - themeraldgraves


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